Take Your Soul
by toxicevent
Summary: He didn't think of the fact that he had just met her or that he didn't know anything about her. He simply felt, and for the first time, he didn't want to shove a stake through his own chest because of it. All he wanted was more Dawn. Kind of AU


To anyone with the gift of sensitive scent, the part of L.A. Connor currently lived in reeked of urine, blood, semen, and as morbid as it sounded, death. As he walked them, he ignored the streets that were littered with trash, homeless men, women, and children, and the pungent odor of drugs and fear. It was no wonder Connor hated it. It was no wonder he wished he could avoid it.

It was no wonder he felt almost like he belonged there.

In actuality, it wasn't as if Quor'toth was home to rising poverty and skyrocketing unemployment, drug abuse, prostitution, and gang violence. But something about South Central, the sadness and fleeting fucking hopelessness, felt too alike with the hell dimension he had escaped just-

Christ, was that just ten months ago? It had felt like a lifetime to the seventeen year old. In the seemingly short amount of time he had come to this world that sometimes rivaled the awfulness of the dimension he had come from, he had discovered that his "Father," Daniel Holtz, the man he had looked to for love and protection for so long (though he never received either), was nothing but a crazed man desperate and obsessed with revenge, and that his true biological father, Angel, was actually a good man-a good vampire.

Every piece of information Holtz had ever taught him had been thrown out the window in a mere few months, and with it, the basis of Connor's life. His entire life he had been taught to hate. He was superior in Quor'toth. The Destroyer, a monster. He was feared and no one loved him. He loved no one. Who was he if not a monster? Who was he if not the bastard son of an evil murderer and his whore vampire mate?

The answer seemed simple enough. He was Connor Angel, the fuck up of his father's family. His father's family; Charles Gunn, the funny one with good, albeit untrained, form and a penchant for protecting people; Cordelia Chase, the Seer that was impossibly deeply in love with her boss; Winifred Burkle, the genius cum demon expert; Angel, the souled vampire seeking redemption in any form he could find, righting the wrongs of his past misdeeds and evil in general; and Connor, the FUCK UP.

If only he hadn't put his dad in that stupid fucking metal box and sent him to the bottom of the GOD damned OCEAN. Who even does that? If he didn't know for sure that his father didn't want him to go after Justine, he would have done so already. She would be dead and then maybe he would feel a little better about betraying and failing his dad so miserably.

There he went. Always thinking about killing in one fashion or another. He wished he could be normal. Perhaps he truly was a monster. Not because of who his father was-a vampire. No, perhaps he was simply conditioned to be evil. He was just a bad seed. Maybe...

"Hey, Baby-"

Connor pulled his jacket tighter to himself and continued walking, ignoring the scantily clad young girl ('Too fucking young,' he thought) opening her purple fur coat none too subtly to reveal an even more revealing ensemble to him. Her posture said upper middle class, her appearance conveyed prostitute, and yet her eyes positively screamed 'help me.' He ducked his head and didn't give her another glance.

If he were the monster Holtz had always made him to be, why did he feel so badly about the girl? He smelled her sadness, her fear, and he sensed how badly she wanted to give up. He wanted to help her, even though he had no way of doing it (considering he could barely afford food for himself). Could that be his father's blood running through his veins? A trait, perhaps, that made him want to help the helpless (for lack of a better term)? Could he truly be...

He froze. Inclining his head slightly, he zeroed out on what had caught his attention.

"Please, stop! Ah!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

With a start, Connor began to run at vampire speed towards the altercation that caught his attention. Several blocks down, in an alley that somehow seemed dirtier and darker than the others, he came across a girl being pinned to a wall by a man much larger than her (hell, much larger than himself), his knee forcefully between her legs and his hands bunching her dress at her waist. She struggled deliriously, most likely having been fighting him for quite a while. Connor's blood boiled. His fists tightened, knuckles white, and he realized with with slight disgusting satisfaction that he wanted to kill the man that was forcing himself upon the girl. As he threw himself into action, in the back of his mind, he wondered if perhaps that was from his father or from Holtz.

The girl's attacker was grabbed and thrown against the dirty brick wall, an extremely strong arm crushed against his windpipe. Each ragged breath the man exhaled reeked of alcohol and the fear in his eyes was obvious. With a scoff, Connor back away slightly and gripped the man's neck with his hand, squeezing slightly and just barely interrupting his airflow. He craned his neck back to look at the girl.

"What do you say," he said to the pretty brunette, "should I kill him now or cut off appendages and leave him to rot in the alleyway?" The question was punctuated with him pulling a knife from his trouser pocket. The man's fear mounted and Connor suppressed a dark chuckle.

"No," the girl replied breathlessly, "just leave him. I think you've scared him enough, he won't do it again." She stood and placed a dainty hand on his arm. Her gentle touch almost jarred him more than her kind words. No one had ever touched him like that. Cordelia had hugged him once, but it felt wrong at the time (would most likely still feel wrong, he reckoned). This girl though-her touch could never be construed as wrong. She gently squeezed his bicep. "Please," she said softly, gazing at him. He dropped his head before turning his attention to the attacker, who still cowering against the wall. In an abnormally quick movement he hit the man over the head, causing him to crumple unceremoniously to the ground, unconscious.

He turned to the girl who looked up at him, her eyes alight with glaringly obvious relief and gratitude. Once again, the girl who he had known all of five minutes astounded him. Like he had never been touched with such softness, he had never received a look like that. As if he mattered. She wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face in his chest. "Thank you," she breathed, then pulled away before he had a chance to react. "For saving me, I mean. And for not hurting him too badly." Connor just stared at her, a bit appalled at her ability to trust so easily ('No wonder the guy was able to take advantage of her.'). When she hugged him he deduced from her scent that she was interesting. He couldn't tell if she was different supernaturally, but she was slightly off, that much he knew.

Warmth flooded him and he realized that he found her to be quite attractive. Her dark brown hair kinked and waved all the way past her waist, just above her backside, half knotted in a mess at the top of her head, and the rest down her back. She wore a tattered gray dress that ended just above her knees and washed out pink (slightly orange in some places) linen tights covered by extremely worn brown boots, all of which had obviously seen much better days. Over her clothes she wore a deep blue sweater that was in slightly better condition than the rest of her coverings, but not by much. Even ruling out her clothing, just by her stance and the way she carried herself, Connor could tell life hadn't been so kind to her and he was suddenly and inexplicably drawn to her.

He cleared his throat. "'S'no problem," he said quietly. Her delicate features softened even further and she took a step toward him.

"I mean it," she said lowly. "Thank you." He stared in her eyes as she gazed at him, noticing for the first time that her eyes were abnormally emerald. It was beautiful, he just hadn't seen anything like them before. Even though black was smudged under her eyes and tears matting her eyelashes, he found them to be entrancing. He slightly shook his head to clear it.

"You shouldn't be out on the streets so late in this neighborhood." He tried to say it matter-of-factly rather than admonishingly, but he wasn't sure he quite succeeded.

"I live on them, so there isn't much I can do about that," she replied softly, avoiding his eyes. He nodded slightly, now understanding her appearance. He deduced that she couldn't have been homeless for more than several months considering she still looked relatively healthy. She was small, extremely thin, but not overly so as much of the homeless people he had seen. She actually looked quite endearing and sweet-

He shook his head again.

As if to change the subject, he looked down at the still unconscious man on the ground, causing he to follow his eyes. She bent down and looked the man over, frowning. To Connor it seemed the girl felt-guilty?

No. She felt sorry for him.

Connor was appalled. "You don't honestly feel remorse for this piece of-" he paused, trying to gain control of the anger that suddenly flared up, "for this man?"

The brunette stood, a passionate look glowing in her eyes. "Of course I feel remorse for him. He's only human," she replied softly. "We all are." He wondered what she would say if he replied that he wasn't entirely human. And that, no, not everyone was. At his silence she thrust her hand out to him. "I'm Dawn," she said cheerfully.

Hesitantly Connor shook her hand, being careful not to squeeze at all, having no doubt that it would be far too much pressure on the small girl. Her hands were freezing and he noticed her shake slightly. But she still smiled. He hadn't met many people here in this world which was so different than the one he grew up in, but he'd yet to meet someone like her. She was odd. Different. So trustful.

"Connor. You know you shouldn't trust so easily. I suspect," he gestured to the man, "that's what got you in trouble in the first place."

Dawn laughed. It was a bright sound and he quite liked the carefree sound of it. "You'd be right. But I know I can trust you."

He opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. "Why would you save me if you just wanted to finish me off?"

He breathed out a chuckle. "I guess you're right. Do you have somewhere to go?"

"I," she hesitated, "yes."

Connor shook his head, not having to hear her heartbeat speed up to tell she was lying. "You know, I wouldn't want my time saving you to be wasted. You stay out here tonight you'll freeze to death." He wasn't sure what he was doing and he almost wanted to tell her 'Too bad,' and run back where he came from. Instead, he held his hand out to her.

"Come on, I've got a place. It's not much-not anything, really. But it's mine," he said.

Dawn stared at his hand for a moment, her heart beating much faster. She smiled, a radiant and joyous thing that made him feel instantly more lighthearted, and took his hand. "Thank you," she breathed.

* * *

Dawn grinned when Connor led her into his apartment, white paint chipping from the door jamb. It was quite small, but not uncomfortably so. The walls had similar chipping white paint as the door and the hardwood floors were no longer polished, but it was nice enough. A large bed covered by a few blankets and a few pillows were placed next to the windows (which were uncovered), with a nightstand that held an old and rather beaten up radio and several books stacked upon one another. They were the only pieces of furniture in the entire apartment besides a basket of clothing and Dawn quite liked it. The kitchen was tiny and the bathroom even smaller. Just as Connor had said, it wasn't much. But it was his.

"Obviously that's the restroom and kitchen. I've only got the one bed, so I'll sleep on the floor-"

"No!" Dawn blanched when Connor gave her a look. Perhaps she had said it with a bit too much conviction. She laughed quietly and went to sit on the center bed, leaning back on her arms, after dropping her bag on the ground. She blushed when he tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes, as if committing the sight to his memory forever. She felt a burn follow the trail his eyes left as he raked down her frame. "I-I don't want you to do that. Please? We can both sleep here, the bed's big enough," she said. He gave no reply. A thought occurred to Dawn and she quickly looked away from him. "If-if that's alright, I mean. I could sleep on the floor if-"

Connor cleared his throat, causing her to look up at him. "If you're comfortable with it," he said quietly, "then I think I'd like that." He didn't know what made him say it and he thought for sure he'd scared her off. But she smiled warmly at him, picked up her bag, and padded over to the toilet and softly shut the door. He smiled, crookedly as he always had (Holtz used to beat him when he did, and he now realized it was because it was nearly identical to Angel's smile), kicked off his boots, and got into bed. When Dawn came to bed, he saw that she had taken off her tights, put her hair into a plait, and washed her face. He thought she was prettier than any girl he'd ever seen.

As he slipped into sleep, he heard her faint 'Goodnight, Connor,' and he thought he really quite liked this girl. This Dawn.

* * *

The first thing Connor noticed upon waking up was the soft and extremely warm body pressed up against him. The one he was currently spooned against, his arms protectively around her middle and her head leaning against his chest. She moved slightly in her sleep, rubbing against him and making him shudder. His reaction jarred her from sleep and she raised her head to look at him under heavy eyelids. She fixed him with a gaze that he didn't quite know how to interpret.

That was a problem. Connor could always tell what someone was thinking, he read people well. Demons, vampires, humans-they all thought along similar lines and he had always been able to get inside their heads. It was who he was, how he was raised-to be a warrior. Something about this girl, though, got to him. He was finding it difficult to read her.

Which was why he was shocked when her plump lips pecked him at the corner of his mouth. At his slack jawed reaction she covered her head with the blanket. "I'm sorry," came her muffled apology. He laughed quietly and laid back down.

"Will you come out now?" Connor asked in a teasing tone. She appeared again, cheeks rosy with a blush and her curly hair mussed. "What are you trying to do to me?" he asked quietly as he looked up at her. The corners of her eyes crinkled and she laughed.

"I've never woken up in the same bed as a boy before," she whispered. Her voice, still hazy with sleep, saying such a thing was enough for Connor to have to suppress a very male groan.

He cleared his throat. "And how do you feel about it?" He realized his voice had dropped an octave, and he would have been embarrassed because of it if not for the noticeable shiver that traveled through Dawn in response.

"Well," she began, picking at the hem of his t-shirt, trying her hardest to avoid his eyes, "since it's you? I think I like it." She looked up at him, an intense emotion clouding her shocking green eyes. "I like it quite a lot."

This time, Connor did groan before launching himself toward her, his lips locking onto hers. As he kissed her, he didn't think of how odd the situation was. He didn't think of the fact that he had just met her or that he didn't know anything about her. He simply felt, and for the first time, he didn't want to shove a stake through his own chest because of it. All he wanted was more Dawn.

He clutched onto her with a vice-like grip, mentally cataloguing her quiet whimper. He'd never forget that sound. He already knew it would always be with him, running through his thoughts and painting his mind with excitement and anticipation he'd scarcely ever allowed himself to feel. When they pulled apart, both gulping for oxygen, he looked at her with heavy eyes, laden with something akin to desperation and starvation.

Dawn tugged on his hair before moving closer to him, ending up on her knees, just above his lap, towering over him slightly. He moved to kiss her again, but she teasingly moved her head to the side. His lips landed on her neck, which he continued to worship with kisses and licks. When he bit her on the crook of her neck quite less than softly, she cried out and held his head closer to her. This action shocked the two for very different reasons.

Connor had bitten her without even thinking. It had been instinctual, and for a fleeting moment as his blunt teeth closed over her neck, he found himself wishing his teeth were sharp, like a vampire's. When she cupped the back of his head to her, he grunted and bucked his hips up to her, and he was inclined to think he had never felt a more pleasurable friction in his life. The compulsion to dominate her was so animalistic and strong that it frightened him, and he abruptly pulled away from her once again, opting to gaze at her in fascination instead. He thought she was perfect. He thought he never wanted to be apart from her. He thought it was wrong that he felt so strongly about her after only just meeting her. He thought a lot of things.

For Dawn, the fact that she reacted so strongly to his bite left her feeling a little appalled at herself. She knew many people enjoyed being bitten, but the feelings Connor's bite incited in her seemed to be something else entirely. She was (technically) part slayer, for heaven's sake! She shouldn't have been so excited over a bite! Yet when he pulled away from her she whimpered at the loss of not only his body but his teeth as well. Despite her disappointment at being separated from him she gazed back at him.

Slowly, without knowing why, Connor traced the bite mark, already bruised purple and damp with his saliva, with his thumb, his jaw slackening slightly at the shiver that ran through the other brunette. Dawn's eyes closed of their own volition as he pressed down upon the teeth marks. Her mouth parted slightly and he was again mesmerized by her.

"You're so lovely," he rasped quietly as he dropped his hand. He swallowed visibly and looked away from her out the window, at a blind man on the street holding a cup as people walked past him, at a policeman banging on a door across the street, at a dangerously emaciated stray dog rummaging through a tipped over rubbish bin. Anywhere but at her, so she wouldn't see the moisture in his eyes (which seemingly came out of nowhere, much to his chagrin) that threatened to spill over.

Dawn laid back and pulled him down alongside her. They stared up at the ceiling. 'Too many cracks,' Connor thought unhappily. After a few moments of silence save for the sound of cars whizzing by and shouts and catcalls ("Get away from there, Brat!", "Where's my money?!", "Hey! HEY!") from outside, Dawn squeezed his hand.

"You've had it hard, huh? Just like me," she whispered. She felt him nod once.

"It's okay." She glanced at him and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. "We're okay."


End file.
